O Albus! my captain!
by Bergere
Summary: OS. The Dark Lord is done with, he died. Surrounded with everyone else's reaction, Minerva McGonagall struggles with her own thoughts. A short insight through Whitman's words.


_Hi everybody! It's been long since I wrote and pubilshed something in english... and actually, most of this was already written, I just finished it now. It is not especially merry, as you may guess well enough, and as for the reference and quotes, they seem clear enough... _

_Anyway, I do hope you'll find it... well, let's say nice enough to be read, not totally flat, etc. It's really not aiming at changing the world of fanfictions or anything of such a kind. I'm very possibly not the first to use this about Albus' death. So, well, I hope you'll enjoy your reading, and wish it to be really nice. I also am waiting for your opinion, of course, should it be good or bad! Really, anything! Before you read, I must add (in case it's not visible enough) that I'm no native english-speaker... which means there must be a couple of awful mistakes, and a good many odd sentences and phrases. I hope that won't disturb too much!_

_Yours, Bergère._

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**O Albus!**** my captain!**

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Hogwarts' castle wasn't exactly in ruins. The large stone walls were standing, still and strong, dark and cold. But the coldness was intense, and the darkness strange. The Battle had just come to an end, maybe a couple of hours ago, and, despite the tears and the mournful atmosphere due to the deaths that had occurred people seemed quite happy. They had won. In the dead bodies lying on the grounds, in the blood, in the tears, in the tiredness and the exhaustion, in the wounds and in the relieving sensation of victory, there was this fantastical feeling of happiness.

It was the last time: never again would such a thing happen. There was hope for a better life, the wizard world would be rebuilt and people would leave behind them hatred, sadness, and most of all fear. Both physical and psychological wounds would be healed. And the whole war was over, the whole fight was finished now; the battle over dark arts and both racism and violence had been won.

_ "From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won."_

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Minerva McGonagall was standing as still as the walls of the castle, as silent as the dead bodies on the bleeding grass. Her happiness had no end, and neither had her sadness. Of course, it was terribly relieving, unbelievably comforting, to know that this monster was, at last, dead – and forever. She was happy about that; and sad about all those who had dies: Remus and his wife, Fred Weasley, Snape whose betrayal had been but a lie and so many others… She knew it was the price one had to pay to win over the dark sides of human nature, but she couldn't help thinking it was definitely unfair. Somehow, Severus seemed to have always been waiting for his death; but all the others were parents, kids, lovers, and friends. Life was before them all, and they had fought for freedom, for a better world they'd never known. Such things, even after defeating Lord Voldemort, made you wonder whether or not the world could really be considered as fair.

But something else seemed terrible to her, something she was maybe the only one to feel. The one thanks to whom that victory had ceased to be a dream to become true wasn't here to see it or celebrate. His portrait was a vulgar artefact, and the fact it knew about their victory was far from being enough. He should have known, just as he should have been here! He ought to be here now and enjoy the victory! She wished she could tell him. She wished she could exclaim, yell out loud enough for him to hear from the eternity where he laid.

_ "__O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,_

_ The ship has weathered every rack; the prize we sought is won,"_

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This kind of thoughts immediately made her think about the day he died. How his body lay useless and forceless on the grass, his members broken and his face barred with so odd a smile. He shouldn't have died. It was profoundly unfair.

Everyone was celebrating, they were happier than ever; never did they imagine that such a feeling could be. She saw the living ones taking care of the dead and the wounded, she could hear sobs and sighs, and she could guess the screams of despair and the tears of relief. This all actually drove her mad: her heartbeats were getting rather precipitated, and every single memory of the former headmaster acted like a knife's point on her heart. Standing still was getting on her nerves, but she felt incapable of any movement. However, someone who was running hit her and forced her into a step: half a second after, she was walking straight-ahead and finally stopped by Albus' grave. The white marble seemed to look her in the eye, provocatively. She swore out loud, and felt a rush of grief possess her again. Today wasn't a happy day at all: it was sad and distressing. At least, it was so to her.

"_Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!_

_But I with mournful tread,_

_Walk the deck my Captain lies,_

_Fallen cold and dead.__"_

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Yes indeed, the fearful trip was done, the shore was here, and soon bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths would be the clear signs of celebration. But now on, she regretted him: how came that peace was cause of loss?

O Albus, our captain, rest in peace: you never saw your victory, but still it remains yours. After all, it is the rules of war.


End file.
